


5 Times Sherlock Almost Found Out (Plus The One Time He Did)

by myboi



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (BBC), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Gen, Reader-Insert, Self-Harm, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock is a Mess, reader cuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 11:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10593093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myboi/pseuds/myboi
Summary: Everything was fine until it wasn't anymore





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE BE SAFE. THIS IS BASICALLY A VENT FIC AND ALL OF MY FICS ARE POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING. READ AT OWN RISK.

After work you pretty much got home and crashed on the couch. Your brain hurt from all the thoughts buzzing in your head. Your temples felt like needles were being stuck in them. You bounced your leg a bit to relieve the tension that was growing in you. You squeezed your hand into your palms until your white-knuckled fist shook. But you itched for an old and forgotten habit. A dumb thing you used to do in High School when your parents got divorced. It was lame, but it had helped. And help was something you needed right now. Slowly but surely you got up off the couch and wandered into the kitchen. You looked at the clock.

 

[4:00]

 

Sherlock would be home soon, along with John. You had 32 minutes if precision had anything to do with it, and with Sherlock precision had everything to do with it. Your blood was pumping now. You would do this, under a controlled environment, with only shallow and relieving cuts. You quickly walked to the office and pulled out the box cutter. You used to have a collection of blades from when you were in school, but you threw them out a long time ago. Now, your options were limited and so was your time as you sprinted to the bathroom.

 

Gauze: Shouldn’t need it but check

Blade: Check

Tape: Check

Ointment: Check

 

Looks like you were set. You scrolled up the blade and tried to handle it as it was thicker and bigger than you were used to. When you were a teen, it was easy to get away with it on your thighs. Now, since you’re an adult, and you remember it being more painful on your arm, that was your destination. You needed that pain. You rooted the blade securely into your flesh and pulled it quickly. But it didn’t bead up slowly like it used to. The red dots freckled your skin then joined to create a steady line across your arm. It stung, bad. You hissed and checked your watch, but the downward motion of your arm splattered blood all over the floor tiles. This was bad. Your watch blinked.

 

[4:19]

 

You had 13 minutes to clean up and bandage yourself.

But could one more hurt?

The answer is yes. As you slid the thick box cutter across your arm one more time, it went too deep into your arm and ached. Your adrenaline pumped so fast you could hear your heartbeat. You body protested at you and all the thoughts of anger and hate filtered into your blood and into those two red strips of flesh. Immediately you washed out the cuts and slapped gauze onto the wounds haphazardly. The red saturated the cloth and you quickly dabbed it away, put on the oinment and…

“Y/n? I’m home. Where are you?”

How has time gone by so fast? You put another piece of gauze on, the blood came to a slow, and you wrapped it with medical tape. You put a long sweatshirt on and were ready to face the world in a haze, your heartbeat still high and your vision returning from its blurriness. You came down from your high as your hand touched the doorknob and you twisted it. You heard a thump as the door hit something.

“Ow, Y/n watch what you’re doing”

Sherlock was standing behind the door and as rubbing his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock!”

You almost yelled, louder than you intended.

“Y/n, are you ok?”

You didn’t hear him.

“Y/n!”

He grabbed you by the shoulders and dragged you into the living room. He made you sit down on the couch and forced your head to look at him.

“Sherlock, what’s gone on?”

John came into your line of vision. You didn’t speak. Mainly because it was hard to.

“I think she’s taken something.”

“What, like a drug?”

John was peering over Sherlock’s shoulder and every time your eyes wandered over to him, Sherlock snapped his fingers to bring your eye contact to him. 

“I’m not sure. Get the med kit.”

You heard rustling and retreating footsteps, then footsteps as John walked back towards you. You felt a tug on the sleeve of your bad arm as John tried to roll your sleeve up. You rejected him and rolled your sleeve up on the other arm. He moved to the other arm and took your blood pressure silently, as Sherlock listed off your symptoms. He wiggled a flashlight in and out of your eyesight.

“Pupils dilated. Face pale, cheeks are warm and flush…”

His speech cut off as he swung at you to hit you, never making contact with you.

“Reaction time… slowed”

“Sherlock her heart rate is high, possible  tachycardia.”

“What is it at?”

“150/90”

“Christ. Okay.”

“What do you think she took?”

“I didn’t take anything.”

You croaked out at barely a whisper.

“Pardon?”

Sherlock says, leaning his ear closer to you.

“ I said I didn’t take any drugs. I just don’t feel well.”

“Dearest.”

John had bumped Sherlock out of the way and was holding your hands tightly in front of you.

“Is there anything Sherlock and I need to know, for your health? Are you diabetic or do you have seizures or is there a history of heart disease in your family or…”

“No John, I’m fine. I’m healthy, I was just feeling anxious.”

John looked up at Sherlock.

“Anxiety attack then, possible hyperventilation?”

Sherlock diagnosed, John nodded in agreement.

“Guys, I’m okay, I don’t need there to always be something wrong with me. I would like to take a nap now. Please.”

“Okay, y/n. I’ll come check on you in an hour.”

Sherlock walked you to your room and tucked you in.

This was the first time.


	2. Can't Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you can't sleep, you run into Sherlock. You both talk and you miss out on an opportunity.

It was two days after you promised yourself you’d never do it again.Which was one day after you’d actually done it. But the box cutter was still tucked away in the bathroom and the cuts from the last time were still healing and despite every promise you’ve ever made to yourself you were still gonna do it again. Because at 12:00 am on that Friday morning you were in the same spot in that bathroom, with that same box cutter in your hand, and that same rock in that pit of your stomach and those same voices edging their way from the back of your mind to the front, telling you that you aren’t good enough.

That you’re a burden.

That Sherlock thinks all you do is slow him down and John only sees you as competition for Sherlock’s favorite.

And as much as you tell yourself NO you are still holding that blade and running it against your thigh over and over again.Show no mercy to those that deserve worse than what you are punishing them with.

After you completed this hate-filled ritual you sit there and you cry.

Like a wimp you cry, because you haven’t cried in years and now you’re a dam breaking loose. You spend two whole hours in the bathroom calming yourself down.

As you walk to the kitchen to get some tea, you notice lights on.

Sherlock is walking into the living room from his bedroom when he bumps into you.

“Y/n...why are you awake…”

“Sherlock…”

You mock his inflection.

“...Why are YOU awake?...”

You stare him straight in the eyes as if this were a stalemate. For a long time you two just stand there. He breaks 

“I’m just pacing, can’t fall asleep, too many things to think about.”

You break your gaze as you say

“Same, I can’t fall asleep tonight.”

“Well… would you like to sit and talk?”

“What would you like to talk about?”

You ask him, thinking he’s got a trick up his sleeve about the trick up yours. Your thigh burns but you clench your fist and try not to think about it. The conversation starts with him. He talks about how lately he’s been very insecure. This surprises you considering, well, he’s the most confident man you know.

“Sherlock what do you possibly have to be insecure about? You’re the handsomest, smartest man I know?”

You hammed it up, Even though you’d found Sherlock attractive since the day you met him, he wasn’t supposed to know that.

“That’s very kind of you, y/n, but.. I just think I’m not good enough at times. It’s incredibly frustrating.”

“Sherlock, I have a confession.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, you know how that feeling is, the one where you aren’t good enough?”

“Yes.”

“I feel that way all. The. time.”

“Oh, y/n. That sounds awful.”

“Your hand goes down to your thigh and you squeeze it so the pain will ground you. You’re sure Sherlock sees this slip of the hand but he carries on. He scoots closer to you on the couch and you turn towards him. He runs a hand through your hair, putting a strand behind your ear and looks at you, really looks at you.

“You know, you have nothing to be insecure about either.”

You laugh at how absurd that sounds.

“Sherlock…”

Your voice breaks a bit.

“I have everything to be insecure about. Have you seen me? I’m a monster. I’m atrocious looking, my face is too chubby and my hair is too blah and everything about me looks like a mess.”

“Darling,  your hair is perfect and your face is proportional and I think the demeanor you give off is very charming.”

He smiles that dumb smile at you and before you know it you kiss him. This adrenaline is different to the kind of adrenaline you felt when you opened your veins. This was lust. Sherlock pressed his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. 

“Would you like to know the real reason I’m awake?”

“Of course.”

You say in a hushed tone.”

“I was thinking about you.”

His lips crash against yours again and he parts your lips with his tongue, begging for entrance. You let him in, let his mouth explore every inch of yours. His lips are soft and his hands make their way from entangled in your hair to tracing the outline of your spine over your light sweatshirt.

You lie horizontally on the couch as he looms over you, his eyes clouded with darkness. His calloused hand finds it’s way to your shirt hem, while the other cups your face. He tries removing your shirt, and you almost let him, until you remember that he would be horrified by what was underneath. Your arm almost shredded and your body is revolting anyway. You squirm as he tries to remove the bulky clothing but as soon as he notices you aren’t 100% willing he stops dead in his tracks. The look in his eyes goes from lust to loving.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah I just, that was moving too fast.. And I..”

“No need to explain. I understand.”

You both sat in silence for a while and it was very awkward. 

“Well… I should be getting to bed now. Goodnight Sherlock.

“I enjoyed our talk tonight y/n. Goodnight, love”


End file.
